Finally we concluded we did not come out into that wild country to be afraid of a few gunshots, and determined to put on a bold front, fight if we had to, run away if we could not do any better, and take our chances on getting scalped or roasted.  Just then we came in sight of three Indian lodges just a little back from the river, and now we knew for certain who had the guns.  McMahon and I were in the lead as usual, and it was only a moment before one of the Indians appeared, gun in hand, and made motions for us to come on shore.  A cottonwood tree lay nearly across the river, and I had gone so far that I had to go around it and land below, but the other boys behind were afraid to do otherwise than to land right there as the Indian kept his gun lying across his arm.  I ran our canoe below to a patch of willows, where we landed and crawled through the brush till we came in sight of the other boys, where we stood and waited a moment to see how they fared, and whether our red men were friends or enemies.  There were no suspicious movements on their part, so we came out and walked right up to them.  There was some little talk, but I am sure we did not understand one another’s language, and so we made motions and they made motions, and we got along better.  We went with them down to the tepee, and there we heard the first word that was at all like English and that was “Mormonee,” with a sort of questioning tone.  Pretty soon one said “Buffalo,” and then we concluded they were on a big hunt of some sort.  They took us into their lodges and showed us blankets, knives, and guns, and then, with a suggestive motion, said all was “Mormonee,” by which we understood they had got them from the Mormons.  The Indian in the back part of the lodge looked very pleasant and his countenance showed a good deal of intelligence for a man of the mountains.  I now told the boys that we were in a position where we were dependent on some one, and that I had seen enough to convince me that these Indians were perfectly friendly with the Mormons, and that for our own benefit we had better pass ourselves off for Mormons, also.  So we put our right hand to our breast and said “Mormonee,” with a cheerful countenance, and that act conveyed to them the belief that we were chosen disciples of the great and only Brigham and we became friends at once, as all acknowledged.  The fine-looking Indian who sat as king in the lodge now, by motions and a word or two, made himself known as Chief Walker, and when I knew this I took great pains to cultivate his acquaintance.

I was quite familiar with the sign language used by all the Indians, and found I could get along pretty well in making him understand and knowing what he said.  I asked him first how many “sleeps” or days it was from there to “Mormonee.”  In answer he put out his left hand and then put two fingers of his right astride of it, making both go up and down with the same motion of a man riding a horse.  Then he shut his eyes and laid his head